"Here's what I made, I hope you like it." In a nutshell, this is the business model of The Hightower, as told by our bartender, Robin. Just beyond where the interstate carves into East 7th st., in Austin, The Hightower is something of a neighborhood spot that delivers creative, yet simple food and possesses a bar program that holds its own weight. For that, it is considered by many a well-kept secret.

The space is open, its walls doused in an olive green and cast with dim light. When walking through the front doors, one is given a direct view into the kitchen. A long bar occupies one side of the building; its giant mirror acting like a vanity for an etched vintage look, while a host of tables wrap the opposite wall and are sprinkled throughout.

Having arrived shortly after the break of happy hour, my eating partner and I had free reign over what was a relatively sparse dining area but chose the bar. This also meant an opportunity for conversation and nearly undivided attention from our bartender. Robin's first quip was one which tied his name to Batman's sidekick, a choice of words that built into a double meaning as we compared his strengths with those of his counterpart, the kitchen.

After starting us out with a pair of cocktails, one O.M.D. ($7) and one Kinaloupe ($7), Robin ran through the high points of the menu, suggesting items like the daily Bar Snack ($5), Smoked Catfish Spread ($6.50) and the Salmon Crudo ($8). We bit on all three. (Prices listed reflect happy hour).

The Kinaloupe uses vodka and (take a wild guess) cantaloupe, as well as the herbal aperitif Kina. Sporting a summer freshness, the cocktail was filled with round fruit flavors and a touch of cucumber from the garnish; it felt like a drink that required sun screen and flip flops. We were told to stir the O.M.D., which in fact enhanced the profile as the bitter elements from the Campari and gin were able to fuse with the serene subtleties of the clementine. Robin later went on to share his motif behind the O.M.D., stating that the scent and taste of a clementine is believed to evoke happiness. You couldn't buy a frown for this corner of the bar.

A leisurely pace for the kitchen lead to quick times for our dishes, while Robin was strategic in his staggering. First up was the Bar Snack, a surprisingly light dish composed of fried balls of pork rillette, with pickles and cheddar wedges on the side. Next to that was the Salmon Crudo; a cut of raw salmon over a sea of gazpacho verde (a tomatillo base) and topped with an herb remedy and crushed cashews. By this time we were also both equipped with one version of each cocktail.

Pronounced notes of cantaloupe effectively cut into the brightness of the salmon, while notes of dill and lime each worked themselves into the herbal complexity offered from the Kina. Of the bunch, this was the best pairing.

While more aggressive in nature, the O.M.D. was still refreshing and crisp, which helped to balance out the sensory overload of meat and smoke that was to come. The Smoked Catfish Spread was served with rye hushpuppies and a smear of caper jam along the rim, the combination ushering in memories of Friday fish dinners. Though in combining just one spoonful of the salty, smoked spread with a hunk of fried dough and dollop of jam made for an even more peculiar flavor association: the taste of hot dogs.

If I had in fact tasted this dish blind, I may have guessed Oscar Mayer (American, vintage 2016). That's no disrespect to hot dogs, or my deductive reasoning skills, but this unshakable parallel ultimately left a modest ceiling on the catfish spread.

To our surprise, a bowl of Brussels Sprouts ($5.50) arrived, a courteous gesture by Robin which came tied with the distinction of 'must try' (a nod from our neighbor). Dressed with house-made peanut butter sauce - the use of honey helped gave it essentially a liquid consistency - and topped with nuts, these sprouts were unlike any version either of us had encountered. They also happen to be some of the best (another nod from the guy next to us). A sweetness from the honey toned the chili pepper and lemon also used in the sauce, while a nuttiness hummed along to bring out the roasted vegetal flavors. For less than $6, this dish drives a hard bargain as one of the best happy hour snacks around town.

Approachable and unpretentious throughout, the food and service conveyed that same neighborhood vibe that was felt walking in the door. It seemed like a place where "you can come for happy hour on Tuesday and still afford to come back for dinner on Friday," as Robin claimed.

Once the final dish arrived, Pork Jowl ($16), it became clear that we the saved best for last. This was suggested as being a part of the The Hightower's identity, and we soon found out why. A bowl of heaping rice laid bed to a patch of micro greens, a mound of pickled onions, a halved avocado with slight char, thinly sliced cucumbers, hunks of seared pork jowl (pig cheeks), and a cooked egg yolk nestled in place for what seemed at that point to be merely show. The idea was to stir everything together; allow the yolk and avocado to form a creamy base and let the rest fall into place. Standing out in flavor and texture were the slabs of jowl, their seared edges and trim lines of fat made each bite a salty sensation. Influence from the herbs and cucumber added crisp, clean notes to help maintain balance.

Before the meal was through, we were offered by our bar neighbor a share of dessert (by now it should be clear that he's a regular). S'more Fried Pie (not pictured), an item that ought not to require much explanation. It was as simple and as decadent, but not quite as overloading, as it sounds. Like any good dish, this dessert struck a sense of place; fond memories of gooey snacks over the campfire were rekindled. An added touch of Maldon salt, moreover, was key in making the flavors in this transportive dish truly pop.

In a town saturated with sleek, modern restaurants that deploy innovative small plates and equally as sophisticated cocktail programs, The Hightower provides a comparable experience at an affordable rate. Their fresh take on Texan cuisine with locally sourced ingredients is worth revisiting, and perhaps even frequenting.

It may be the best taco truck you'll never remember, or at the very least be able to pronounce, depending on which time of the day and under which circumstances you choose to dine. Working in its favor are the seemingly endless hours of operation (7:30 am - 2:30 am on Thursday, Friday and Saturday) and a location that rests between the hip side of Austin's 6th street and the dirty side, though a name cluttered with vowels and like sounds may pose a challenge for the diners seeking its comfort in the late hours of the night.

If you're not a part of the bar crowd that Pueblo Viejo feeds on a nightly basis, you may after all have no trouble recalling the name or any of the ingredients in your dish. Like most memorable food trailers, they keep it fairly simple and straight forward here. Breakfast or street taco? Gordita or Quesadilla? These are grave decisions we face.

Similarly suited for the casual cuisine is the assortment of makeshift seating; folding chairs, deep bottomed seats made of rigid plastic like those from the grade school days, long metal benches, and round wooden spools turned to tables are among some of the prime options for one to prop their elbows and spread out. A large tree is centered in the lot, across from the long, white taco-slinging trailer, and effectively shades nearly the entire seating area. Parked alongside the trailer is an abandoned yellow short bus with the words Pueblo Viejo painted in white lettering, perhaps paying homage to the former base of operations. Collectively, it feels like a cross between an outing and the junk yard and a picnic in the park.

After some consideration for the approaching lunch hour, I opted to split the difference and ordered one breakfast taco (Tico Taco - $2.50) and one specialty taco (Guaca Taco - $3.90), and one Topo Chico to wash it down.

"That'll be $1," responded the lady behind the window. "Someone here payed in advanced." She waved her hand over the crowd of strangers behind me. I looked for someone to nod or wave assuringly but witnessed no such thing. While resisting the temptation to add a third taco, and perhaps add an order to go, I thanked her and wandered off to find a seat.

As I sat, still waiting for the anonymous gift donor to reveal themselves, I became less interested in the food to come and more intrigued by the chain of reactions that were to follow when others ordered. Truthfully, I was half expecting word to have leaked out, via some form of social media, in enough time for a sudden flood of strangers to max out the open card for a free lunch. Aside from a pair of ladies who contemplated the menu before walking away empty handed, nothing out of the ordinary or remotely questionable occurred.

My food came with a minimal wait, and it came bountifully as the two tacos were filled to the brim. There is an unspoken verdict that a taco truck is measured by not only their execution of the dishes, but also the quality and array of salsas offered. While the chicken in my Guaca Taco was laden with spices and varying ingredients, I drizzled an orange habanero sauce onto the Tica Taco and braced for impact. The effects were rippling and longstanding, even a considerable time after finishing the taco was I licking my lips to cool the sting.

A hefty dosing of starches in the Tica Taco were instrumental in cleaning up the zippy spice and maintaining balance to the taco. The potatoes were soft and dense; their edges lacking a fried firmness, while the beans were creamy without truly announcing any signature flavor. Avocado was, avocado. Moreover, there is only so far you can take potatoes, avocado and beans. The salsa helped kick up the flavor and leave a lasting impression, but otherwise the concoction was mediocre and otherwise underwhelming.

Reaching the Guaca Taco was a relief of sorts, in that the array of ingredients was more interesting in both its spread and offering of individual flavors. Grilled chicken, seasoned with a red pepper spice, and seared onions were amply stuffed onto a bed of spinach and guacamole, which all together worked as a balancing act in both texture and flavor. Effectively displayed was the meaty flavor from the seared chicken while a creamy richness was delivered by the guacamole. Bits of crisp spinach and grilled onion were secondary as softening elements, with the latter providing hints of sweetness.

Both tacos were double wrapped with thick corn tortillas, ultimately leading to a heartier but consequently messier experience. Though, after all, years of experience has allowed me to instead regard my oft messy eating as passionate eating; this makes it agreeable for all parties involved.

As the afternoon wore on at Pueblo Viejo, I sat reflecting on the pair of tacos (and how sometimes there is in fact such a thing as a free lunch) while going over the practice of annunciating its name for word of mouth retellings (Puh-way-blo Vee-Ay-Ho). Ideal for a pit stop on lunch break, or perhaps even more suitable for quenching a late hunger inflated from a night on the town, Pueblo Viejo's versatile menu and generous portions help propel it into the conversation as one of the finest mobile (but actually stationary) taco dispensaries in Austin.

Operating as the oldest BBQ pit in the capital city of Texas is a feat, one not easily maintained when considering the competitive culinary scene in Austin, but House Park Bar-B-Q still remains a stalwart after more than 70 years. Situated in central Austin, right off of Lamar Blvd and 12th street - which is within walking distance of both the Capitol and Austin Community College but also far enough from the bustle of downtown - this BBQ joint opens shop with a condensed operating schedule (Monday-Friday 11:00 am - 2:30 pm). It has all of the charm of a classic, Texan BBQ house; the BYOB signs placed throughout basically encourage you to wrap up a Loney and settle in for a hefty portion of meat and starches before resuming responsibilities elsewhere.

During that window of service, one might encounter a mix of young academics on their exhale or even white-collared men in their business suits and meeting books. They all come for one reason: meat so tender it practically melts before reaching your mouth. Word on the street is that the pit tender arrives at House Park during the dark hours of the morning to keep the fire going (and ensure the place doesn't burn down). While such a practice is not unheard of within the BBQ world, the resulting product here helps to put this joint into an elite class.

Visible on the interior, years of accumulated smoke effectively creates a tinge of yellow that acts almost as a filter on the photographs of vintage cars and other decor, which collectively feels like an assortment of furnishings displaced from a lake cottage. Such a mystique was certainly evident while dining, but even more so once exiting to the crisp air and piercing sunlight following our meal.

Having arrived a little after noon on a Wednesday, the tone was set with a stream of country radio (even a fine rendition of the National Anthem made an appearance), as men of all ages quietly dissected mounds of meat. Such a pacific ritual seemed to be contagious, and it was no sooner that my eating partner and I had begun putting more effort into our own food than conversation. Before us were identical plates - the Brisket plate ($9.75) was on special that day - which featured single scoops of potato salad, slops of brown beans, shavings of cabbage in the form of slaw, and generous slabs of beef in brisket form.

Earning true to the sign out front which reads "Need No Teef To Eat My Beef", this brisket was, to memory, some of the most tender and moist meat I have had the pleasure of consuming. Soft enough to be severed by a swift maneuver of the fork, the meat was accompanied by a small pool of grease on its surrounding perimeters; however, the consistency was not soggy or overly ridden with fat. There was balance here, and in the flavor as well. All of this coming, no less, from a novel approach to tending the meat: simply smoke. Word has it that the man behind the meat relies only on the wood and seasoning of his above-ground brick smoker (which is said to be one of the few spots in Austin allowed to use such a pit) for flavor. He stays away from spices entirely. When added, the liquid BBQ sauce provided a notable zing; the boost in flavor came with a tangy and slightly spicy profile.

Moving through the sides, the beans stood out with notes of brown sugar and a hint of smoke, while a hump of potato salad filled in admirably and the shredded coleslaw gave the meal a sweet balance - though the latter two showed unspectacular in comparison to the other portions. Most importantly, the meat delivered satisfaction with a seemingly effortless attempt and the portion proved to be too much for one sitting. It's worth noting that when I did finish the remaining meat sometime later, (after being in the fridge) it remained considerably moist and rich in flavor. Also worth mentioning is how the effect of less than an hour exposure to the smokey building proved to be lasting as the scent of campfire remained integrated in my hair for the next few days (I swear, I shower regularly).

The food resonated as much as the atmosphere, and the prices are affordable enough to make this a place one can frequent. For a true, unpretentious Texas BBQ experience, without the lines or glamor, House Park Bar-B-Que should be high on the list for any meat connoisseur.

On an impromptu visit to Ft. Collins, my traveling partner and I happened across The Backporch Cafe while in search of a meal that would meet what seemed to be an insatiable hunger. Having arrived at the restaurant at the height of the breakfast hour, we were lead around tight corners and filed into a crowded waiting space that offered only a handful of chairs to its dozen or so occupants. A hostess weaved through the mass, charting the seating order by memory and calling on separate parties as vacancies surfaced.

In the ten or so minutes it took to get sat, I was struck up for conversation by a bearded young man who had noticed the Mala beads around my wrist; he went on the share that he had a trip planned to India the following month. This was his first visit to the restaurant, and my first time in the city. We introduced ourselves before being split apart by our separate table openings. His mannerisms were suggestive of qualities I would find to be true of the city; the mountain town possessed an inviting, relaxed and warm environment.

Our hostess eventually brought us to a table which sat four and was propped just far enough from the kitchen to be within ear shot of the muffled screams of a ticket taker, but also close enough to a set of windows which gave view to a vast redwood outdoor patio that was draped with massive red umbrellas. The deck was the type that might be attached to a summer lake house in the woods. Further adding to the cozy cabin feel was the interior decor which included tall, aluminum beer signs formatted like license plates that touted local crafts, as well as the scattering of paintings that depicted southwestern skies with dark sunsets and black deserts.

After having undergone a stark change in temperature - from a thick Texas heat to much thinner mountain air on a brisk morning - hot tea seemed appropriate. I went with the Apple Cinnamon Spice ($3). Ample in flavor, the tea was only the beginning to a heavy dose of comfort indulgences as my eating partner surprised by ordering a cinnamon roll ($3.50) that was sure to 'get the mind moving'. Before its arrival, however, our server came to take our full orders, which included on my part a BPC Scrambler ($9.50) without cheese.

And so the mammoth cinnamon roll arrived (not quite to the standard set by Ann Sather, but large no less) and was quickly carved up. On the first slice of a fork, the bun was soft and gooey all the way through, yet the initial taste proved the exterior to be more flaky and stiff than moist. As the bites progressed, chunks of the bun clumped together and latched to the roof of my mouth; the struggle of dislodging which left me clucking like a chicken. The bun itself contained deep pockets of sugar randomly placed throughout, and the uneven dispersing of flavors and rather resistant consistency ultimately rendered the item mediocre and unremarkable.

When my scramble arrived, the mind was certainly moving, though it didn't take much to identify the eggs, which sat atop a bed of diced potatoes, green peppers and mushrooms, as being much closer to the realm of over-medium than over-easy (as requested). While I later realized that I missed an opportunity to have the dish 'smothered in green chili for just an extra $1.50, a late request for a side of salsa at least helped add zest to the otherwise middling flavors of the dish.

In digging further, nothing stood out about the flavor of the vegetables; both the mushrooms and green peppers were sufficient fillers, while the potatoes had a crispiness that unmistakably reflected their preparation - you could almost taste the fryer. Worthy as a compliment, however, was the side English muffin. Light, airy and dressed in butter on its interior, the muffin had an outer crust that even showed hints of sweetness and a pleasant crunch.

While Back Porch Cafe was in fact intended as a stop-and-go breakfast joint on our trip, it lacked any distinguishable qualities to regard it as necessary upon a second visit to Ft. Collins. I happened to spill food on myself and eat a little more than I should have; so in many ways it was very ordinary. It should be noted, however, that the ensuing drive home was foiled by a compromised feeling in my stomach, which ultimately knocked the experience down a few notches.

To classify Casa De Luz as a restaurant would be an injustice; visiting is more like a temporary retreat with the bonus of accessible fresh, healthy food and a beautiful landscape. Centered around macrobiotics, the Taoist principles of balance through diet by way of pure prepared foods, Casa De Luz focuses on serving all-organic foods based from whole grains, plants, beans vegetables and soups made from scratch; all of which is prepared completely gluten-free, vegan and vegetarian, naturally.

While the trend of healthy alternatives for the dietary conscious is well documented and perhaps even over emphasized, Casa De Luz is unique in its approach; their mission statement simply supports the concept of healthy offerings as a genuine response to the imbalances of modern eating and living. This holistic, all-natural attitude was put to action when the restaurant opened over two decades ago and is a reflection of what one experiences here, from the tranquil and zen setting right down to the presoaked grains and beans. In all, Casa De Luz is a breathe of fresh air; a slice of serenity among the bustle of Barton Springs Road, but mostly it's an example of what can be achieved with simple ingredients and a genuine approach toward food and the community.

From the point of entry, one is engulfed by lush greenery and lead down a winding walkway paved with brick and shaded by twisted vines and overhanging greens, which feeds to an outdoor dining area that covers a raised deck and string of umbrella covered tables to create ample shading opportunities. Inside is an open kitchen crossed with a vast dining area, as well as a tucked away shopping area which contains anything from books on microbitioics and nutrition to bulk beans and various coffees and teas. A rhythmic drum of knives and the slow sizzle from skillets accompanies the sights and smells of an open kitchen, while conversations in the dimly lit dining room are low, reminiscent of a school cafeteria in the early hours of the morning.

Once you pay the flat fee ($9 for breakfast), all portions and presentation are in your control, as everything is self serve. Coffee is replaced by kukicha - a Japanese tea with alkalizing and digestive properties but low in caffeine - while filtered water free of fluoride is included as part of the meal. Dessert, if you can manage to save room, is worth the extra money.

The spread on this particular morning suggested one start with the soup and move on to the steamed vegetables, beans, sauce and homemade corn tortillas to devise fixings for tacos (at least that is how I naturally approach a meal when the opportunity is presented). Once the nutritional bulk of your meal is had, a tall pot of porridge awaits, with the additions of granola and raisins to round out the meal and even satisfy a sweet tooth or two.

Composed of mixed greens, carrots and onions, the soup had a heartiness to it that was still tolerable in hot weather, though the base stock was a touch too salty. On their own, the pile of leafy greens - cabbage, kale and collard greens - were about as inspiring as any blanched vegetables could be, but a dollop of tahini sauce went a long way in adding a little zest. Unless refried, black beans don't often vary in consistency or presentation, and these fell in line with the standard as they held shape while remaining soft and mushy to the touch.

These individual parts, however, were much greater as a sum when combined and stuffed into the crisp, freshly constructed corn tortillas provided. Hints of cumin and other spices from the tahini sauce successfully recreated the feeling of devouring a real taco, while the beans added weight and the vegetables structure. Having to reluctantly abandon a half-eaten spread from my seat on the patio in order to run inside for another tortilla, I was fortunate to have avoided a siege of grackles and came back to find my plate intact.

Outside of the menu concept and its distinctive setting, the most beautiful aspect to the dining experience at Casa De Luz is its endless offerings on portions. Self serve tacos, after ample time to train in Austin, can be dangerous. Having to save room for porridge, the taco count was capped at three.

As a base, the amaranth provided a gooey filler that was, on its own, bland. When added, however, the granola, raisins and a heavy dose of cinnamon spiked the flavor to create a balance of sweet and nuttiness that served as retribution for all of the green fixings consumed. Yet, out of sheer curiosity for the true desserts offered (advertised as vegan and gluten-free), I fell victim to a helping of Carob pudding ($4) to conclude.

With a consistency that was wet and spongey, much like true pudding, the carob - a naturally sweet plant that resembles chocolate - added the finishing touches on a hearty meal. As the pudding began to disappear, notes of anise and clove began to reveal themselves, both of which played well with the aforementioned chocolate flavors.

In all phases, Casa De Luz provides a genuinely organic and holistic experience for its diners that is second to none. From the signs in the bathrooms that suggest voluntary clean-up, to the vast offering of cook books and various health resources, this establishment is certainly unique and worth visiting, if not frequenting.

Stepping foot into Joe's Bakery & Coffee Shop is like entering something of a time capsule; its bright yellow paint and Miami Dolphins' blue trim coat walls contain framed black and white photos of family and military members alike, while the occasional snapshots of politicians such as Joe Biden or Bill Clinton are scattered throughout. Former Texas Governor Rick Perry's letter wishing Joe Avila a happy birthday can also be found on one of the walls. Yet, with the exception of its decals and large sign clearly displaying the words Joe's Bakery, the bones of the building might suggest it as a meat market or convenience store rather than a restaurant.

While the Avila family business dates back to the mid-1930's, Joe's Bakery was not established until 1962, but in that time the bakery has built a reputation on serving up traditional Mexican cuisine, and the added temptation of homemade desserts encased near the entrance leaves one to contemplate more than just a conclusive cup of coffee (notice how I didn't say Joe).

My meal took place on a quiet Thursday morning; one shrouded by an overcast sky and the conclusion of a breakfast rush, both of which seemed to contributed to a pace of service that was like a slow exhale. Having decided to sit at the back bar counter, my view into the kitchen was essentially unobstructed, giving way to the sights and sounds of playful banter among staff, as well as the slow spin of a circular ticket holder and the occasional ding from the appointed 'to-go' bell. My back faced the dining room, but a quick survey would reveal that I was one of the few younger inhabitants - a trend that extended to patrons as well as staff. Framed art, the family photos and food drawings washed over the bright yellow walls while a steady stream of trumpets and violas pumped through the juke box. Little was left to assume that not much had changed since 62'.

My server, while cordial, was hardly ardent in extending herself on anything further than the basics of coffee, water and which variation I was to have my eggs, protein and tortillas (more or less, I knew what I was coming for). After considering the chorizo, I selected the Barbacoa Plate ($8.29) in hopes it would lead to the unraveling of some treasured family recipe for treating the meat.

Rising steadily, the pace of service fell in line with the approaching noon hour, though the time it took for my food to appear in the service window across from me was minimal. With a presentation that seemed very uniform, my dish was served with utensils, two corn tortillas, and a side dish of salsa verde. Uniform is the correct connotation in that the rather vanilla way of presenting this dish was presumably designed for a fast turnaround on ticket times, and consistency, after all, is key in this business. To that point, there was nothing sexy about the division of choppy eggs, lumped meat, sprawled out beans and limp potatoes - but I wasn't going for sexy. I wanted a genuine recipe that might just be memorable.

With the first few bites - a mangled mixture of the fixings before being stuffed into a tortilla - I was rather unimpressed. The meat lacked a sizzle, neither texture nor spice could set it apart from any other shredded barbacoa in Austin; though the eggs were sufficiently scrambled to a consistency that remained airy and full. As they say: beans will be beans, and these lacked any distinguishing quality; meanwhile the soggy texture of the potatoes rounded out an all together underwhelming assortment of ingredients.

Then again, a deconstructed breakfast taco is hardly impressive in any situation, and the sum is almost certain to be greater than its parts - this instance was no different. When combined and dressed with a dollop of salsa verde, the ingredients offered an array of rich flavors that were creamy, salty and a little spicy to create a rather satisfying taco. Texture seemed to be lacking, however, and I was left to wonder if the dish couldn't have been heightened with even a small portion of diced tomatoes or shredded lettuce.

The only check back that was made by the server was to inquire if more tortillas were needed. Sure they were, but the food was good, too…(thanks). After eyeing the case of jeweled desserts for the duration of my meal, I caved and bought an oatmeal raisin cookie (best 50 cents I ever spent).

If you are to dine at Joe's Bakery, come early (they close at 3pm) and without the expectation of server spiels or exotic culinary concoctions, but trust that you'll at least be getting a share of what the restaurant was founded on: classic Mexican cuisine with a relaxed atmosphere and outpour of rich family history.

I'm writing to express my gratitude for your restaurant hosting me for breakfast during my visit to Chicago. It was not as windy as they say, but the city was not short on excitement. The day was spent in Wrigleyville, where the sin tax is as merciless as the bus drivers (though not many other places will you see a group of college students nonchalantly attempt to load a recliner onto a city bus), and it began with a good old fashioned sit down breakfast at your Broadway location. Had I known of its existence, a more serious attempt would have been made to dine at your original Belmont location to see where the magic all started.

Nonetheless, your attempt at luring a hungry passerby in from the street with wafting scents of baked cinnamon and melted sugar was successful - the infamous sticky buns and cinnamon rolls were undoubtedly the largest I've encountered thus far.

While I'll admit I've always been a sucker for diners, your restaurant has charm - paper menus, crammed tables, murals painted with warm colors and a glass case stacked with the aforementioned sweets - and on that morning it had the quiet hum of clanking dishes and private conversations which added a certain comfort to the experience. The service was straightforward; almost too straight forward at times, but still commendable considering server put a stop to his round in order to engage with the toddler from a neighboring table, doing so by calling her by first name. I couldn't help but feel that this was the type of joint that would suck you into becoming a weekend regular and then be the reason for you jumping up three waist sizes, all before you know it.

The staff was cordial and swift at first. Shortly following the initial water deliverance came our coffee ($2.25); a brew that flowed with a rich density like all bottomless drip should, but this would be the climax of attention from our server. After delivering our plates - for myself the Chicken Fajita Omelet ($11.95) and for my eating partner a Denver Omelet - our server seemingly disappeared without making a reappearance for even a single refill of coffee. It must be pointed out that while a casual outing such as this does not rely on highly attentive service, excuses were in short due to the dining room being otherwise nearly empty.

No less, the dish and it's two sides, a bowl of fruit and mound of potatoes, was a portion large enough to compensate for the lagging service. With its careful assortment of varying colors, the side fruit was so intense and commanding in size and flavor that I might have guessed it to be genetically modified (even if it is, I won't tell anyone). Sour peaches, ripe cherries and juicy watermelon were among the prime components, all of which helped curb the seemingly insatiable sweet craving created by your pastries.

Though listed as hash browns, my potatoes arrived as a heap of quartered and halved potatoes that were tender and rich with oil and salt (it might be wise to specify this distinct difference for the finicky type). Before even slicing into the omelet I began to feel full. Though, once I did cut into the omelet; which was filled to the brim with a generous portion of bell peppers, onions, tomatoes and chicken, I found it difficult to stop. Outside of maintaining its composure, the actual omelet faltered with flavor and remained uninspiring. Not even the side of 'homemade salsa' could do much to restore balance, ultimately leaving the seared edges of fajita chicken and roast bell peppers to assert interesting flavors.

Though unexciting, the meal was satisfying as it hit on a number of standard tasting points while providing the sort of warm atmosphere one seeks on an early morning in unfamiliar territory. Had the service been more attentive (a line cook came to clear our plates), I may mark your operation as one essential for revisit, but it's difficult to ignore negligence in favor of above-average food. If I'm to return, it will only be for copious amounts of sticky buns and cinnamon rolls.

As the name might suggest, everything at Raw Goods is prepared raw; as nature intended and without any heating treatment. Featuring proteins with fins and gills for entrees, the menu also encourages fruit and vegetable exploration through the makings of raw smoothies and bowls; which include such health foods as buckwheat, avocado and and spiraling. For a caffeine kick, honey brined coffee is also available for purchase.

On a Sunday afternoon in mid-June, Aztec Food Trailer park on Cesar Chavez on Austin's east side played host to a steady crowd out to celebrate the commencement of summer vacation with the traditional party favors of ice cream and beer floats. Sprawling picnic tables along its gravel lot were occupied primarily by large groups, with the exception of a few families and couples out for a date. Among the trailers feeding the troops were La BBQ, Dee Dee, Super Burrito, and Raw Goods. The latter, with its wildly vibrant spray paint job that supplies nostalgia to a Fruit Stripe gum package (I kept thinking zebras), is the subject of this review.

When I peered in through the truck's tiny window I found the space to be devoid of human activity, with only the subtle movement of hanging knives and tree fruit strung in nets along the back wall. Moments later, a man walked by me on his way into the truck and asked what I wanted.

Taking a seat near the trailer, out of the heat and under the shade of a towering oak tree which filled the center of the picnic table like a candle wick, I took to study the details of the trailer and its surroundings. Appearing messy from afar, the squiggly splatters of spray paint took on a more calculated arrangement to pattern the truck in a warm, tropical way. To the same effect as the netted produce inside, a pair of elevated planting beds at the wheel base gave home to herbs like mint and basil, which further solidified the emphasis of sourcing from the earth. All the while the steady chopping of a knife gave rhythm like the sea, with the only cause for interruption coming from the drifting scents of spilled beer, smoked meat and Thai spices.

Moments later my chef called out tuna with my name on it, handing over a paper boat of leafy greens and a small cardboard ramekin filled with sliced pears which were dressed with purple flowers and an effervescent foam. With passionate ease he rattled off specs of the dish, identifying the type of tuna as Saku from Japan and detailed ingredients to the pear blossom; the foam being concocted from coconut fat and dehydrated vegetables.

"If the tuna gets too hot, tone it down with the blossom," he suggested. As the foam began to dissipate from the outside temperature, I ultimately dumped the contents into the bed of greens to preserve its integrity and enjoyed the ingredients as one.

By selecting rainbow chard as the base, the fillings (a generous layering of alfalfa sprouts and tuna), were well supported and received a textural contrast. The first bite started with a snap while the make-shift taco gradually delivered an array of precise flavors; slow heat from hidden ginger and habanero pepper, true yet not overbearing tuna flavors which carried an almost creamy consistency, and even hints of violet and fresh mint from the blossom. Remaining consistent throughout, the dish delivered from start to finish.

To replicate the experience of a true taco by utilizing only plants, fish, and herbs is a feat in itself. Delivering such a product without flaw or reasonable argument on the price, much less, makes this truck worth revisiting. Perhaps including other raw vegetables like bell pepper, chives, or tomatoes could enhance the dish from a variety standpoint, but otherwise the execution, presentation and mood set at Raw Goods is laudable.

For as competitive as the food scene is, it seems only appropriate that an establishment would take proper measures in selecting an adequate name, one that stands out and represents its food as well as its level of service. With a name like Picnik, one might expect grab-and-go, perhaps even simple fare that is nostalgic if not comforting. Considering the heightened interest in farm-to-table sourcing at restaurants in cities such as Austin, one might even go as far to assume that carefully curated, fresh ingredients would also come into play here; especially if prices hover around $10 per dish.

The South Congress location of Austin's paleo friendly food truck, Picnik, only partially succeeded in delivering on the aforementioned themes that its name suggests. Butter coffee, as well as a 100% gluten free and paleo friendly menu are the offerings most identifiable at Picnik, yet the emphasis on food seemed to be severely lacking. Ultimately, it appeared as if the establishment might be at a conceptual cross roads.

Admittedly, my trip was the first time in recent memory that I can recall feeling ashamed of what transpired at a restaurant. Had I not sought out Picnik for a review, there is little doubt that I would have slid my plastic container of food back across the counter and asked for a refund or at least an exchange in product.

It's worth mentioning that Picnik proclaims their butter coffee as being famous, which I'm sure is an experience worthy of changing perspective on coffee for the better, but on this visit I elected to steer away from the $6 (and up) cup and devote my time to eating. The Carnitas Tacos ($10.75) seemed to be a fun paleo rendition of the classic dish, primarily for its usage of Siete's Almond Flour tortillas and local pastured pork. After receiving a cold plastic to-go box containing two feeble tortillas, however, I decided to remain nearby to see what sort of guest interactions I might encounter, as if perhaps my portion and exchange was an anomaly. No dice. For what was some time, I sat and thought about what just happened, meanwhile casually separating and then rearranging my tacos as I thought they ought to have been presented (the drawings reflect the initial deliverance). The portions of meat on both tacos wound up hardly stretching the length of the tortilla, while the advertised pickled onions were scarce to say the least. I did find a couple leafs of cilantro, though. Before long, the tacos warmed to the sun, yet I was stumped over why an $11 dish should require both manicuring and reheating in the first place.

Upon picking up the first taco, I found it incredibly difficult to do so without it crumbling between my fingers. Sure, the consistency of these particular tortillas (Siete's Almond Flour) can be tricky, especially if heated to too high of a temperature and then cooled. I have had them crumble on me at home before. Such an occurrence, however, seems inexcusable considering the circumstances at hand. If a location decides to use a certain ingredient, it should have a firm grasp of how to properly use and deliver that item in a way that maximizes the experience for the customer. Furthermore, if the product is susceptible to fault, why use it? There are alternatives, such as Siete's Cassava and Coconut tortillas, that surely would have sufficed.

Once I managed to break the taco into four squares, which ultimately became finger food, the outcome of flavor was pleasant and surprising. A richness from the pork combined with the nuttiness from the tortilla to create a creamy, almost decadent experience. Hints of lime and citrus also tied well with the avocado puree to ensure a variety of flavors one might anticipate from 'true' carnitas tacos. Enduring this constant struggle to keep just a single taco together, however, only dampened the minor victories that this dish was achieving. Furthermore, my search for the pickled onions yielded only one limp strand on each taco, neither of which announced themselves in any distinguishable way.

The whole experience, in the end, provided some needed reflection. As I sat, staring at my plastic box of cold, lazily assembled tacos, two questions ultimately surfaced: who deemed this portion as respectable, and when were these tacos prepared? Initially I felt like I had been hustled. Yet, after I was through eating, I wasn't expecting a noble answer or compensation for being slighted. After all, my patronage had contributed to what was happening, not only at Picnik, but seemingly all around the city, and perhaps in similarly suited culinary boom towns.

This experience ultimately put to question the relationship between the patron and the establishment, specifically regarding those which boast the designation of 'farm-to-table' as a selling point. At what point does the standard for this fresh, innovative fare succumb to its demand and ultimately suffer to mediocrity? How much cushion should be afforded, after all, to these establishments when they pump out sub-par products? Ultimately, where is the pride for the 'locally sourced' products of use, and the local patrons themselves?

Perhaps there's no true answer or justification for what seems to be occurring around us. It surely is not the first time that I, and likely others, have felt slighted from their experience at a similarly regarded establishment. The siege of 'locally sourced' 'farm fresh' fare is upon us, but does mean that we must simply comply if we wish to keep the trend alive? Sure, one patron boycotting an establishment means little to the grand picture, but we deserve to reexamine our dining experiences and hold establishments to a higher standard when we are paying good money for it.

Once a stop-and-go drive-thru pick up spot for film, Fresa's Chicken in Austin TX, specializes in, well, you guessed it, chicken. Pasture raised, local chickens get sent to this brightly painted, two story brick building to be roasted (after being marinated in achiote and other spices, mind you) and then wrapped in deli paper and served out of a sliding glass window. Since it opened in 2012, the establishment has made its claim by specializing in chicken, yet offerings range from organic eggs for breakfast tacos, house-made corn tortillas, beef brisket and roasted pork shoulder, as well as salads, pazole, tortas, and hand-spun ice cream. Oh yeah, they also sell margarita kits and cold beer to go. If you think of anything else, there's probably a suggestion box somewhere along the drive-thru.

Depending on what time of day, their drive-up window can be most sensible, especially considering the limited parking spots available and beast that is Lamar Avenue. However, being on foot has its benefits, particularly for those looking to dine elsewhere since the space to eat on site is rather limited. In that case, an abundance of scenic dining options exist, from the ever-changing spectacle of Austin's graffiti art wall just blocks away, to the low winding paths of Duncan Park that essentially reside in Fresa's backyard.

As we arrived at a lull, our wait time was considerably quick and in no time we were saddled up on the drive-thru curb with a bag full of tacos and Topo Chicos. My first choice (the?) El Presidente ($4.25) featured slabs of Fajita chicken as well pickled carrot, cucumber, avocado and jalapeno. First and foremost, the sear marks and moisture of the chicken took charge, while a slow spice creeped in as things progressed. Not overly saturated, the marinade showed hints of lime and pepper throughout. The method of shaving skins from the cucumber was lauded, as the crisp vegetable offered fresh flavor and a snap for contrast. Additionally, the carrots and cilantro devised a bit of a Vietnamese feel, which may not have been the intention but was welcomed. As the end neared, however, the giant slice of avocado quickly became a burden as I was simply left with a hunk of avocado and wad of tortilla on the final two bites. Mostly satisfying and rather filling, though, El Presidente seemed to be a worthy representation of the expressions Fresa's is aiming for in their tacos.

My El Rey ($4.25), on the other hand, failed to reach the bar set by its counterpart. Considering the prevalence of Texas BBQ and the execution on their grilled chicken, I had built up reasonable expectations. Yet, maybe I'm the one to blame for ordering BBQ at a place with a rotating chicken as its sign in the first place. Either way, the 'slow-cooked beef brisket' was noticeably dry, a tick above room temperature and otherwise lacked an identity. Though the pickled jalapeno offered a nice kick of sweet spiciness, it seemed that when combined with the other ingredients most of the flavors seemed to mend to a singular spice, while the brisket was all but lost. Not to mention the noticeable fat streaks on the brisket. Overall, the taco was fairly sufficient and proved to be filling, yet it would seem difficult to justify ordering again at that price.

The whole experience was one of the cooler ones to date in Austin, mostly in regards to the mixed bag of menu options and nearby outdoor dining locations, so it would not be fair to write Fresa's off for one mediocre taco. After all, you don't go to Red Lobster (hopefully ever) and expect their mac and cheese to be memorable. Perhaps next time I'll test their breakfast tacos or man up to the full chicken spread. I'll go back, but not before trying other taco stands around town.

In all that Austin's food scene has to offer, from its wide array of places to get too comfortable in comfort food to the limitless combinations of what can be fit into a tortilla, it seems that less overt are selections for tasting and experiencing European culture and cuisine. Certainly there are the kings and queens (Justine's, Fabi + Rosi, and Chez Nous, to name a few) but not every occasion calls for that caliber of service or financial commitment, for that matter.

Residing amongst a handful of other chic restaurants on East 11th street, Blue Dahlia Bistrois a seemingly flawless replication of a cafe one might come across in Europe. First intrigued by its swaying blue sign, we enter what is a quaint space that is toned with rustic walls, which are a shade lighter than terra cotta in color, and slip into a line that is stretched to the door. Our timing proves to be not so poor after all, though, as we are able to catch the tail end of a charming solo performance by an elderly woman on her accordion. Swaying from side to side, she leads the eyes to wander to a nearby wooden rack hoisting freshly baked bread and its accompanying basket of baguettes. It's beginning to feel like France.

While seating accommodations for larger parties are sprinkled throughout the inside dining area, most of the restaurants offerings begin to seem best fit for two. While we wait for our server, who was awarded a kind buffer of "being busy" from the hostess, a few other showings of the restaurant's personality become evident, such as the widely shallow coffee mugs and each table's complete spread of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, brown sugar and wooden grinders for fresh black pepper.

Though in fact rather busy, our server does not appear flustered or off-balance on initial contact nor while covering specials and taking drink orders. A calm server, no matter the internal chaos, is often the gateway to a pleasantly paced meal. While set up primarily as a host of a la carte offerings, the menu also includes larger meat and cheese boards (as suggested options for two). After much debate we opt for one of the specials, a Veggie Frittata ($9.50), as well as the Belgian Waffles ($6.95) and a bowl of fruit ($5).

Despite the consistent turning of tables, our spread of food arrives all together and relatively quickly. While passing the initial presentation test, the waffles become increasingly enticing as scents of vanilla are pronounced so to nearly induce an onslaught of saliva. Texturally, the waffles are airy and crispy without leaning toward dry or stiff. Though flavorful enough to require not more than a sliver of fruit, a touch of maple syrup goes a long way in producing a sweet, but balanced array of flavors. Furthermore, the notes of maple and vanilla pair quite well with the coffee, which carries a rich density and notes of cherry on the finish.

To combat our sweet selection, the veggie frittata delivers a rather assertive saltiness, which could be accredited to the liberal usage of feta cheese. Also scattered throughout are bits of spinach and grilled leeks. The frittata itself is well layered with a consistency that is firm and doesn't crumble at the drive of a fork like some do. Furthermore, a plain pile of greens soon becomes useful in adding a crispness which helps cut some of the richness and provide textural balance to the dish. Accompanying the frittata is a ramekin filled with pesto, which pairs well with the feta and late blooming leeks. Regarding the leeks, only at the conclusion of the frittata do they announce themselves, which is a disappointment. If dispersed properly throughout, their rich caramelization could have truly taken the dish to the next level.

Though not entirely necessary in sufficing our appetites, the bowl of fruit (a concoction of mangos, melons and berries) offers up a bright melody of flavors and serves well as a palate cleanser.

On not so busy of a day (if such a thing exists for Blue Dahlia), go sit out on the patio that's lush and shaded by an overhead trellis or take a little extra time exploring the Water Closets (now that's art). With much regard to the level of volume and service, this particular afternoon delivered a charming brunch with enough incentive to return.

Don't let the name fool you. Foolish Craig's in Boulder, Co., has earned its way over the last two decades as a peculiar and quaint cafe/bar that services fine food and sanctuary from the bustle of Pearl Street. Its colorful logo, which features a carless looking fellow (presumably Craig), could be considered the first introduction to what is a welcoming and vibrant establishment. An eclectic mix of quirky decor and the overall layout pay tribute to the cafe origins, while the red brick interior and its tight bar sort of resemble what you might find in a mountain ski-lodge.

Having wandered the town for much of the day, I was appreciative of the free reign I was given on the dining room and gravitated toward a table that was the furthest from any other patrons (though the two couples at the bar looked like a cozy bunch). After settling in, I was pleased to discover myself sitting next to a tall poster signed by Guy Fieri, where his scribbled black ink was lauding the cafe. Something about the crepes. A few other posters in the vicinity caught my eye, particularly one toting a New Orleans Jazz Fest circa 1998. I would later come to find out that the establishment opened in 98', and that crepes were indeed one of the cafe's signature dishes. Food Network's Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives had also done a piece on the restaurant. There seemed to be a thoughtful intention behind the compiled wall hangings and decor.

In looking over the menu, I found it to be vast and rather detailed with a plethora of breakfast and traditional cafe options while still offering tantalizing dishes to the dietary restricted and otherwise health conscious people of Boulder (this is where I mention that a party at the nearest table was particularly vocal with their inquires and demands for the organic selections). I was less particular and kept it simple by rather spontaneously selecting The Foolish Huevos ($9.50); a rendition on the classic huevos rancheros dish that instead used the famous in-house crepes as a serving bed.

In just the first few bites, I was pleasantly surprised by the freshness of the vegetables used in the dish. In similarly situated kitchen-sink offerings, it can be easy to mask inattention to detail for the minor ingredients by being heavy handed with rich sauces or proteins. Not here. A melody of veggies, specifically the broccoli and bell peppers, were pronounced amidst the thick slab of over-easy eggs and underlying moist crepe. The black beans and potatoes, as well, were easily identifiable on their own as I progressed through the dish. While I wasn't blown away by any single flavor; the ranchero sauce was above average and any true representation of the crepes was seemingly lost in the mess, I kept coming back to the fact that I was able to taste the varying textures of vegetables on their own. Even the onions broke down to single leaves, showing to be crisp and charred around the edges.

In all, I came away impressed with the fact that my portion would have sufficed for a party of three, the server was mindful but not overbearing with her check-backs, and the atmosphere had a dual personality. Had I arrived with company or in a better state, (altitude change can do mean things to one's appetite) I may have received an entirely different, though likely positive, experience. Next time I'm in Boulder, Foolish Craig's is poised to be near the top of my list.

Head east on 11th street past the Texas state capital and you will encounter a pocket rich in establishments to fix your hunger, particularly the kind that strikes in the morning hours. Yet, while doing a double take on the names like Hillside Farmacy or Quickie Pickie, you may very well miss the new kid on the block: Paperboy.

This shiny black food truck, which rolled into its gravel lot last November, offers yet another destination for seasonally inspired, locally sourced fare in Austin. Its cursive baby blue lettering punctuates the traditional Saturday morning vibes of comics and tabloid newspapers that one might be longing for in this whirlwind they call the 21st century. To take literal matters further, the truck offers a rack full of crisp editions of the Austin American-Statesman and New York Times for your reading enjoyment.

As for the food, Paperboy offers a menu that's concise and straight forward, highlighting classics such as Steak & Egg, Oatmeal, and B.E.C (Bacon Egg and Cheese), with a twist. Though the prices all float under $10 and seem modest (with the exception of your $4 glass of Orange Juice), the temptation to try multiple sides and fair portion sizes make it easy to rack up a bill fairly quick. This truth was evident as soon as we sat down next to a girl on her phone, which happened to be at the only picnic table in the lot with space. Hearing her say, "this is like, my $15 breakfast…or something. There you go Mom," as she snapped a photo of her food, admittedly helped to build excitement for ours while also serving as a reminder that this was no ordinary breakfast.

By the time one of the roaming staffers found us, with a pair of cardboard boats in his hand, our picnic table had reached capacity and we were well into the fresh squeezed orange juice and Coffee ($2.50).

My Hash Bowl ($7) arrived as a bed of roasted sweet potatoes hoisting a poached egg, while hiding shreds of braised pork belly. A drizzle of coffee mayo was placed for visual effect, but lost its ability to shine among the dense and rich flavors of egg yolk and sweet potatoes. In light of recent disappointments regarding poached eggs (see Hillside Farmacy and Hyde Park B&G), I was relieved to find that the execution of this particular egg was flawless. A firm, almost gritty outside lead to an explosive and rather runny interior, making the dish an instant hit. Sweetness from the potatoes almost overmatched a subtle gaminess of the pork belly entirely, but played quite well with the yolk to create a balance and provide an experience was far from your typical meat and potato dish.

For conscious relief, to some degree, the Savory Toast ($7) offered a combination of both fresh and greasy ingredients while acting as a rendition of eggs and toast. While the inclusion of sweet broccoli and strawberries could be lauded for creative contrast in texture and flavor, the unshakable level of butter from the toast and saltiness from the eggs nearly dominated the dish. Moreover, the menu advertised goat chorizo as one of the ingredients, yet we were unable to find a single trace of the meat in our dish. Mistakes happen, ingredients are forgotten from time to time, but this was one of the selling points of the dish and was rather disappointing. Worth noting, however, was the addition of a purple (pickled?) broccoli which had a tanginess that helped cut the saltiness and stood out among everything else going on in the dish.

As our food digested, we sat in the bustling lot and listened to others talk about their food while contemplating our own. Most noticeable was a feeling of unsettlement as others, too, wondered if there was more to be desired for the other menu items. Perhaps it's due to the portions we've grown up on and accustomed to, but our desire for just a little bit more food seemed to be justified.

Considering everything positive about the truck; its location, relaxing vibes and original concept, it's fair to say that the shortcomings can be chalked up to growing pains as a new establishment. A second visit would surely be justifiable, and done in the spirit of trying something new.

Enter through the sliding wooden door and you will find a dimly lit, serenely scented establishment that is both a convenience store and fully operational restaurant/bar by the name of Whip In. Touted as a hangout spot with its sprawling patio, house-brewed beer and south-Asian fare with an innovative twist, Whip In features one of the more unique brunch experiences in Austin.

Brunch opens at 10 am, and by 10:15 a slow trickle of bodies had already formed a line at the first bar counter. After taking an order we proceeded to navigate the retail side of the shop for the all-admirable, bottomless self-serve coffee.

In one corner of the dining room resides a wooden stage and projection screen, and if you go on the right day and you might catch a muted Kung Fu flick synced up to some 70's funk or soul jams. The bar, accentuated with sheets of corrugated metal and wooden planks, acts as a divider to a dining room which is otherwise lined with cold beer, wine and snacks. Streams of colorful tapestries mark the walls and drape the ceilings above each booth, together offering both mystique and privacy. Collectively, the furnishings and structural quirks fade forward to construct a decor with ethnic character and comfort while you await the food.

Each portion was hefty and induced groans of satisfaction within the first few bites. In disassembling the quiche, I found it's texture to be fluffy and chewy, yet crisp around the edges. Strings of smoked gouda cheese ran over the top, adding a creamy compliment to the creeping spice of a tomato chutney concoction that was also slathered over. A slew of caramelized onions offered a bit of sweetness to balance the slow kick of heat, but mostly contributed to the richness of the dish. A rather uninspiring side salad initially seemed out of place on the plate, but once the flavors of the quiche unfolded it became clear that the greens were included to help tame heat and offer a contrast in texture. Also offered to help cleanse the palate was a side cup of mint fruit salad, which both cut down on heat and offered a twist to the usual fruit companion.

As for the omelette, this dish was pretty straight forward with pronounced flavors from the house-made goat chorizo, which was moderately gamey, and feta cheese. Relatively simple with its selection of ingredients, the omelette delivered salty and savory flavors, yet managed to not go overboard. Perhaps most memorable, though, was the potato hash which brought a richness to the table with its toasted texture and unmistakable element of sweetness.

Our groans of delectation slowed to a halt and the bottom-less coffee seemingly lost its luster as we neared the end. A closer, in the form of espresso and foam, seemed only appropriate (macchiato $3). With an adequate ratio of foam to espresso, this particular version was well executed and added a feeling of completeness to the meal. Versatility among staff is valuable in such a place.

With a level of ambience that matches the layered and eccentricity of satisfying food, Whip In remains near the top of the list for brunch spots worthy of a second or third visit. If nothing else, consider it next time you're on a beer run or a Kung-Fu kick.

The name Odd Duck adequately encompasses an Austin establishment which prides itself on doing things a little differently. Not only doing things differently, such as sourcing components of their rotating menu from local farms and making the place look like it could be an extension of an actual farm, but doing them well. Sure, the designation of 'farm-to-table' has seemingly become a trendy handcuff to the new and obscure restaurants, but perhaps no establishment in the city executes this practice as well as Odd Duck.

Displaying this farm fresh concept even down to the bones of the restaurant, Odd Duck boasts an arrangement of rustic recycled objects that might be found on an old farmhouse. Above one table, a cut down ladder hangs to hoist a handful of lights with colorful light fixtures lamp. Above another table hangs a pair of massive lights, their shades made of burlap sacks which still feature the original trade emblems. Mason jars mount the tables, each playing host to a bundle of wild flowers. Floor to ceiling glass walls line the restaurant, leaving no element unexposed, yet offering a fresco feel in the dead of what is supposed to be winter in Texas.

At 5:15 sharp, a rolling black shade crawls to the floor to dim the pitch of the setting sun and provide a more comfortable tone. I arrived at the start of happy hour and, having to wait for two others to arrive, ordered a glass of wine from Bourgone, the motherland of pinot noir (Domaine Michel & Marc Rossignol 2013 - $11). Soft and seductive as Burgundy ought to be, this wine had a pleasant nose with hints of tart cherry and leather. The mouth feel offered bright fruit, which made a strong push midway before finishing clean with dark fruit and hints of spice.

As the horseshoe bar began to fill up, and my table remained otherwise empty, the server was friendly and not intrusive, returning only a few times to primarily highlight the happy hour portion of the menu. Yet, he refrained entirely from suggesting items or even explaining the restaurant's small plate concept, both of which may have enhanced this type of dining experience. So out of good faith for the kitchen, my selections came spontaneously and included the Braised Goat ($12) and Rye Toast (originally $12 - 1/2 off during happy hour).

The main components of the Braised Goat ($12) was a bed of masa, clumps of lime mayo, fresh cilantro, and most importantly a heap of shredded goat. In just slicing into the dish, we were previewed on how it would taste; soft, rich and layered. Its subtle seasoning, paired with the gaminess of the goat and texture of toasted masa, offered a full array of crisp and savory flavors. Particularly in addition to the floral and bright fruit characteristics of the pinot noir, this dish fired on all cylinders. The wine's tannins also helped clean up some of the residual richness from the goat.

In contrast, the Rye Toast offered a rich and creamy texture which reminded more of a potato salad with a twist. By including watermelon radish and fresh shrimp, the dish had some snap to it, while the avocado salad offered a soft base and fine contrast in texture. Standout flavors also included a sweet bite from the mustard seed and hints of spice from the grilled rye bread.

Time restraints (an early movie showing at Alamo) forced us out before we could tempt dessert or another glass of wine, but all together the staff remained attentive and efficient in funneling us in and out within an hour. Two separate staffers grazed our table, one to pick up the check and the other to refill our water, which lead to the assumption that some degree of team service is in practice here. I've come to believe that the practice of team service is both conducive to and indicative of the staff moral. It's fair to assume that with the restaurant's location and its appealing constant carousel of menu items, this staff is content enough to pitch a hand to create a positive experience for the customer.

With no true hiccups aside from the lack of menu guidance from our server, it's difficult to find flaws in this Austin gem.

The idea of a 'snack bar' was put to full practice as my eating partner and I sought a comfortable place to grab a bite to eat late on a Thursday evening. Snack Bar, located on South Congress Avenue in Austin, TX, radiates the charm of old-Austin with a thoughtfully decorated inside dining space, as well as a sprawling outdoor patio complete with a roaring fire. While the interior space seems comparatively small, it is in fact well utilized with its vintage decor and staggered seating arrangements.

A waiting area in the center of the lobby shows more as a living room retold from the likes of a fashionably equipped Baby Boomer and is accentuated by an irregularly shaped sofa and set of black leather chairs. Paved over with a smooth gravel floor, the space gives way to a sleek L-shaped bar and oval stools, as well as a separated dining area that shows other guests from the shoulders up.

Though in no particular rush, and understanding of the fact that the night was clearly winding down, it was admittedly unsettling to watch a host of staff bustle around us without much acknowledgement or offer of service, especially considering we were the only guests at the bar. Fortunately, as we waited, keenly selected tunes from the likes of Jimi Hendrix and The Doors were playing over a muted casting of Back To The Future on a wall near the bar, which all together provided a feeling of placement in an entirely separate era.

Factoring in brisk conditions and our tame appetites, we elected to split a pot of Turkish Spice Mint Tea ($4), a cup of Cauliflower & Leek Soup (Soup Du Jour - $5) and a bowl of Brussels Sprouts ($7). Coupling both the fact that brussels sprouts are rumored as something of an Austin staple and that my mother once fixed a mean cauliflower soup, the selections seemed appropriate.

Though varying in consistency; the childhood recipe being cream based, this version was hearty, a little rich, but impressive in its balance. The leeks, while naturally subtle in flavor, offered a distinguishable sweetness and proved complimentary to the cauliflower. A tinge of black pepper and underlying buttery flavor showed through as well, all together making the soup a relatively complex and filling dish.

Meanwhile, as Marty McFly quarreled with Biff, my tea steeped and developed a strong sweetness that I assume to be the result of steeping the leaves in stevia. With varying opinions on the herb, this could mean different things for different people. Otherwise soothing and layered, the tea was an adequate pairing for the food.

Our brussels sprouts, advertised as flash fried, carried on the outer shells a light and crispy texture. Offering a pleasant crunch from the outside, nearly each sprout was cooked through and remained firm but still chewy at the center. Accompanying the sprouts was an herb aioli which, when combined with sprouts, brought out a stiff and almost unpleasant saltiness in the mouth feel. Overall, though, the dish was a fresh and savory representation of how brussels sprouts can taste if executed well.

All together, the portions proved too much to conquer and we were forced to give up midway through each dish. Once again, a handful of staff floated in our vicinity without acknowledging us, or the forfeited portions, and what was intended as a brief stop for snacks turned out to be nearly an hour ordeal.

In considering the retreat and satisfaction provided by the atmosphere and food, the experience was mostly memorable. Perhaps on the next visit it would be wise to arrive early and with a larger appetite.

Tapas style dining, and small plate sharing alike, has had a rippling effect on cuisine over the past few years. Less frequent are the days of your 'American size' entrees, large soup or salad, and dessert. Rather, the featuring of small plates with delicate flavors and surgical precision for presentation has become more than a trend, it's practically the norm.

Launderette, as the name may hint, is a converted laundromat on Austin's east side, where the art of share plates and chic decor is firing hot. The menu, while dynamic in its offerings, is relatively straight forward, offering an introduction of 'snacky bites' and 'toasts' before giving way to heartier course options on the wood grill and other specialities. Inviting and diverse, the menu allows one to taste a myriad of flavors while not being too pretentious for the more elementary eaters; other options include a burger or ribs.

The decor, in cohesion with the menu, is trendy and welcoming. An L-shaped bar is the focal point of an otherwise open dining space, while a partially visible kitchen and sea blue flooring are other noteworthy aesthetics. Since I'm sure you're wondering, there was no lingering smell of old socks. As the weather allowed, my eating partner and I elected for outdoor seating on the patio, which featured sleek wooden benches and overhead heaters (for those frigid Austin winter nights).

Our server, a cordial and soft spoken young lady, provided suggestive navigation of the menu before taking our drink order. We contemplated the large spread over a pair of wine glasses; I chose a Nebbiolo (Damilano Langhe Marghe, Italy 2013 - $13), while my partner had a Cotes Du Rhone (Pierre Arnadieu, Roulepierre, France 2012 - $11). On the softer side, the Nebbiolo had a pleasantly floral nose, while the palate offered expressions of cherry, spices, and had mild tannins.

The wine served a worthy companion to our first food choice; Sticky Brussels Sprouts ($9), which came served as a heaping mound and dusted with pecorino cheese. Sticky they were, the sprouts were dressed with an apple-bacon marmalade and also featured crushed almonds and diced jalapeno. Hints of fish sauce lingered throughout, which kept the marmalade unique and complimentary to the crispy vegetables. Also impressive was the execution of the brussels sprouts, as each bulb boasted a crispy shell with a soft and chewy inside.

We fought over the last of the brussels while awaiting our Beef Carpaccio ($16). Having once worked at a restaurant that served this item, it boasting an aioli recipe straight from the very bar in Sicily where the dish was born, I naturally felt compelled to put this version to the test. The pairing potential with my Nebbiolo and aroma alone were enticing as the dish was brought to us. However, in the first few bites, I felt admittedly overwhelmed by the potency of the dish's cornichon-caper vinaigrette. Initial flavors of lemon, black pepper, capers and the cornichon (a pickled cucumber) were too strong for any trace of the beef to assert itself. Strengths of the dish were a bed of celery leaves and crispy shallots (appearing as mini onion-rings), which offered texture to compliment the thinly shaved beef. Coupled with the overwhelming effect of the vinaigrette, I discovered diced jalapeno scattered throughout; a confusing combination which left an unpleasant and lingering heat once the dish was finished.

While the close proximity of our seating offered an intimate setting, it consequently put our server to the test when it came to her menu spiel. Mild overlap did occur, but she was quick enough on her feet with questions and kept the suggestions different between tables; all strong signs of an experienced server and a trustworthy menu. In moments of indecision on our final course (between the Bucatini, Aleppo Prawns, and Brick Chicken), she steered us with confidence to the Chicken Thighs ($16). A caution of spice, but we were sold.

Unexpectedly, in only a few moments, we were brought the dish. Its neat presentation and the scent of charred meat clouded my judgement for a moment. Sure, chicken dishes can be prepared as partially cooked for speed and accuracy purposes, but this dish appeared to have been merely warmed before being delivered. Furthermore, the described 'moderate spice' turned out to be an all-out fire fight with our taste buds. An overwhelming sensation of spice, coupled with a strong saltiness from the meat, left me disappointed and unsatisfied. While certain stages of the dish were better than others; the middle portion being tolerable, it became increasingly difficult to convince myself that we made the right choice. Moreover, the dish seemed to be one that we could have ordered just about anywhere.

Additionally, I found more jalapenos accompanying the chicken thighs. Three out of three dishes featured traces of these peppers. Was this mere coincidence? With all of the 'innovation' behind this restaurant such redundancy showed more of a lack of originality than anything, particularly with dishes that may not need the extra spice.

With the dessert options neatly presented on half menus, it seemed necessary to both cleanse the palate and provide an opportunity for redemption. Our choice, Ambrosia, featured a pistachio semifreddo, candied grapefruit, whipped mascarpone, and tangerine sorbet. With a simple host of ingredients and clean presentation, the dish offered a light fare and tied well with my espresso (which was neatly presented on a shiny platter). While the dessert price was unlisted, the Ambrosia was savory and offered a feeling of completion for the meal.

All said and done, the meal totaled $100, which did not quite seem reasonable for the experience. Yet, considering the high points of the meal, and conversations nearby which touted Launderette as one of Austin's finest, it seems fair to chalk up the inaccuracies and certain redundancies as a fluke. Adequately sized portions and the depth of this menu help to conclude that Launderette is still deserving of a second spin cycle.

During the 1920's, Hillside Drugstore was owned and operated by Doc Young, the first African American pharmacist in Austin, Texas. The building, complete with a pea green paint job and crowned by its black and white striped awning, is now home to one of the trendier spots on Austin's already trendy East side: Hillside Farmacy. Maintaining and preserving history from the inside out, Hillside Farmacy's unique atmosphere is enhanced with its original cabinetry and display of antique pharmacy-esque decor; which includes pearl white wall tiles, shiny copper tables, an abundance of glass cases to display knickknacks and snacks, as well tall sheets of glass for displaying menu options.

Also a slick white, the inside floor tiling proved to be affected by the heavy foot traffic on this damp Sunday morning. Brunch, being popular enough already, ushered a dense crowd and it was to no surprise that we were offered a 30-minute wait. In actuality it proved to be closer to 15-minutes before my eating partner and I were seated at a table near the edge of the dining room.

Within a few moments, our server appeared with a smile and rapid fire of questions such as 'how are you?' and 'can I get you started with a drink?' without much space in between for a response. Understandable, considering the volume of tables in the small vicinity, but the experience suddenly seemed rushed. With our coffee order in, we glanced over the menu as well as the support staff. A pair of bartenders stood under a set of hanging industrial lights, manning the front counter and tight with buttoned down overalls and red neck ties; all together upping the 50's feel.

Shortly after menu decisions were made, two heavy plates were brought to us and it became immediately apparent that we were not supposed to walk away hungry. On my plate sat the Ham Steaks & Parmesan Cheese Grits ($12); a slab of pork belly, heap of creamy grits, two poached eggs and mound of crisp arugula. Across from me, my partner carved up the massive Seasonal Omelette ($10).

It should be noted that, while ordering my grits, our server assumed I wanted scrambled eggs (though the menu described fried eggs), but I modified the dish to come with poached instead. In cutting into the first of my poached eggs, it appeared tough at the surface and proved to be closer to hard boiled than poached. Perhaps the dish was meant to have scrambled eggs and I was being difficult for making the modification. Or perhaps I'm simply cursed in my search for poached eggs in Austin. Disappointing, no less.

However, the second egg was properly poached and hope was restored. The textures and flavors from the pork belly, egg yolk, creamy grits and arugula blended together quite well and each forkful offered something different; whether it be the smokey nature of the pork, peppery seasoning of the grits, or simply the crunch of arugula. All together, the dish was essentially what I egg-spected (expected, ha-ha).

While the grits set a savory tone for the meal, it was hard for the omelette to match such an array of flavor with its simple ingredients. However, the execution was on point and highlights of the omelette dish were the roasted red bell peppers, shallots and mushrooms. A side of potato medallions also offered a nice contrast in saltiness and texture, as they too were nearly flawless and rather tasty.

As we ate, the dining room thinned out significantly but still only one refill of coffee was offered. Moreover, our plates were cleared and a check was dropped without any offering of additional items or follow up from the meal. Luckily for our server, I had a hankering for espresso and ordered one partly out of principle for her negligence.

All in all, though, the experience was mostly satisfying and we left with a box of left over grits so that we could feel ashamed of ourselves twice in a single day.

From the outside, the Yellow Jacket Social Club (YJSC) shows as a time capsule; its architecture is southwestern but still true Texas. The frame and exterior lighting help make for a distinguishable land piece on Austin's east 5th street, while the interior provides a cozy, unpretentious feel.

On the morning following Halloween-eve, the doorman was a grizzly fellow with a thick handlebar mustache, sleeveless leather vest and cap, while a line of sparkling choppers were parked near the lot's fence. One was left to wonder if this gathering was merely a carry over from the previous night's Halloween festivities, or instead a representation of the crowd at hand.

On first greetings with the staff there was an identifiable stiffness in their demeanor, and it was unclear if they were bothered or simply exhausted. Perhaps both. All our ordering was done at the dimmed bar, where drip coffee was self serviceable, and mimosas were made with fresh ingredients.

The outside seating offered a handful of picnic tables, though the one we chose was made home to an unclaimed pup who was tied up to a leg of the table. Other dogs and their owners passed by, hardly engaging our confused party of three. In the time it took for the dog to warm up to us, he was retrieved (he was actually a lab) by his owner and our food had arrived. This would also be the last time we would be attended to by human or animal until check was due.

My idea of a southern helping of shrimp and grits, however, greatly differed from what was brought to me - ($11) Shrimp and Grits. Rather than a piping bowl of rich, creamy grits, I was brought a plate of spinach, shrimp, and grilled onions which had been manicured onto a flat bed of grits. With as much shrimp as lettuce, I felt slighted in having received more of a salad than anything. As I studied the interactions among the crowd around us and worked further into the dish, however, I began to understand that there was more thought put into this dish, the service, and these people (dogs, too), than was lead on.

Contrary to popular belief, moderation is important. It can be as effective as execution. Grits can quickly act as an abyss, and this modest portion was suggestive to that notion. These were buttery, creamy with still enough resistance. The seasoning was well integrated; no heavy hands in this kitchen. The onions were grilled to keep texture but flavor changed with a good char; the contrasting texture was distinguishable. Despite fear of post-brunch hunger when the plate was finished, the dish proved to be just the right portion for one to live without much regrit (the supposed regret from over consumption of grits).

If to expect exceptional service or to even have anything refilled, one might be disappointed. However, if you're seeking the sort of place that has the lure of becoming habitual, with comfortable food and a low vibe, the Yellow Jacket Social Club will deliver.